Ghosts on the Wind
by stillplayingpretend
Summary: Sirius is dead. Here's Remus's reaction in the aftermath of the battle of the Department of Mysteries. Takes place during 5th year, a drabble for the Houses Competition. Prompt: [song prompt] Empty Chairs at Empty Tables


**A/N: House/Team: Badgers. Class Subject: Potions. Story Category: Drabble. Prompt: [Song] Empty Chairs at Empty Tables from Les Miserables. Word Count: 903. I'm not JKR. **

Remus watched, shell-shocked, as Harry and Dumbledore disappeared from the ministry atrium. Chaos reigned around him, as Aurors and ministry officials appeared to haul away the Death Eaters that had been incapacitated or killed. Ron, Hermione, and the Lovegood girl were being transported to St. Mungos for immediate medical care. Remus watched as a frantic Molly wrapped her arms around her daughter, tears streaming down both of their cheeks as Ginny tried to stand awkwardly on her broken ankle. Neville seemed just as lost as Remus, gazing around blankly at the sight until Mad Eye came up behind him and put a gruff hand on his shoulder. The two of them exchanged muffled words and then Mad Eye disapparated, presumably taking the boy back to Hogwarts. _I should be helping. _Remus realized frantically. He took a halting step forward and then stopped. Helping whom? The ministry and Dumbledore seemed to have everything under control. All of the children had been accounted for and taken away for medical attention. And as for his fellow Order members, none of them were especially worse for the wear. None of them except- except –

He needed to leave.

Remus pulled out his wand and disapparted to the first place he could think of. His feet hit the front step of Number 12, Grimmauld place and he stumbled inside, only halfway aware of his surroundings. The hall was silent, quiet. Almost as if nothing had ever happened. Remus walked down the hallway and into the kitchen as if in a trance. Coals were still burning the fireplace and there were dishes in the sink waiting to be done. Remus grabbed a glass off the shelf and went to the cupboard to find Sirius's stash of fire whiskey. He poured himself a stiff drink and drained it in one gulp. Then he threw away the glass and brought the bottle up to his lips and chugged heartily. He came up for air with a gasp and wiped the liquor from his lips with a hysterical laugh. He stumbled back to the kitchen table and sat down with a _thump_, staring blankly at the empty seats around him.

_Sirius is dead._

The thought burned through his head just like the fire whiskey burned down his throat. His last friend, his best mate – was dead. He, Remus, was the last of a Marauders. James was dead, Peter was worse than dead, and now Sirius. Sirius had died bravely, saving Harry from the Death Eater's clutches, and Remus knew that was how he would have wanted to go. A Gryffindor to the last, saving his godson and sticking it to his family. Remus look up blearily and gazed down the table to the place the Sirius so often sat during Order meetings. He'd been so frustrated that he wasn't able to go out and fight in the war, and he'd finally gotten his wish.

He'd sat there when they were kids too. Remus remembered the one and only dinner invitation the Marauders had ever received to the Black family home. He had sat at Sirius's right, Prongs had been on his left, and Peter had been too chicken to come. They had made it halfway through a very tense dinner filled with snide remarks about the Potter family before Mrs. Black had been horrified to learn that Remus's mother was a muggle and began to rant about the ill-effect of "interbreeding". Sirius had risen to the bait and began a spectacular argument with her, the house echoing with the sounds of their yells. James had smiled mischievously, winked at Remus, and folded his hands politely.

And then the turkey had exploded.

They were never welcomed back into Grimmauld Place after that, to James's delight and Remus's relief. Remus took a swig of the firewhiskey again and let out a sigh at the memory. James had really been the best of them. He realized suddenly that in a few more years, Harry would be older than James had been when he died. The notation filled him with a strange kind of echoing pain. James had died so young, they'd had no idea how really young they were. They'd joined the Order right out of Hogwarts because they'd believed in it with their whole hearts. Remus could still see them both in his head - Sirius and James, young and full of determination and righteous anger. Ready to take on Voldemort, ready to take on the world. Would they still do it now, if they knew what it would cost? _I'm so sorry. Forgive me, Padfoot. I couldn't save you. I couldn't save Prongs._ Remus felt hot tears pour down his cheeks as he remembered Sirius's barking laugh and James's crooked smile. What had become of them, what had become of his friends? His faithful, valiant, dead, friends?

They were gone. All of them, gone. Ghosts on the wind, echoes on the wall. Existing only now in memory, photographs taking the place of flesh and blood men. And he was alone, as always knew he would be. Somewhere out there, Voldemort was raging. Fudge was losing face, Harry was despairing, and thousands more would be waking up tomorrow to find that their world had changed for the worse overnight. But he, Remus, sat alone with his ghosts in the empty room where they had plotted, and prayed, and waited in vain for their new dawn.


End file.
